


Capture the Flag

by Karee_the_wise



Series: Flagshot [1]
Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Amanda schemes, Angst, Awesome friendships, Floyd has feelings, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt!Rick, Implied Medical Procedures, Learning to care about each other, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mission Fic, Post-Movie(s), Pre-Slash, Rick also has feelings, Team as Family, Torture, squad goals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7870363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karee_the_wise/pseuds/Karee_the_wise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flag and his Black Ops team has been captured, and Waller calls on the Suicide Squad to get them back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Floyd had just about got used to his old prison routine again: the endless stream of days that seemed to bleed into one; swinging at his punching bag until his fists pulsed painfully with bruises; and the same dry, chunk of meatloaf every evening that never failed to sicken him.  
  
After defeating the Enchantress, the squad’s prison life had change irreversibly, or so they thought. Floyd couldn’t remember a time when he had actually had something to look forward to in his week. Waller, apparently, had insisted on group training sessions. So, twice a week Flag would gather the squad together in a warehouse near to Belle Reve, in order for them all to spar with each other, practicing with a variety of different weapons. It had been an experience. Floyd had come to actually enjoy discovering new ways of fighting, without such a heavy dependence on fire arms. Although, maybe that was because his sparring partner usually ended up being Flag himself, due to their similar size; and Flag, as Floyd soon came to understand, was in fact pretty great. Not that he would admit that to anyone, ever.  
  
But, as always, a good thing had to come to an end. Floyd knew this. It was a philosophy he based his life around; which was why it made him so uncomfortable at how disappointed he was when this newfound rhythm was disrupted after just a month and a half. Two weeks had passed since Floyd had left his cell, two weeks since he had seen the rest of the squad, two weeks since he had seen Flag. It felt like an itch he couldn’t soothe.  
  
Guards approached. Floyd was up off his bed in an instant and peering curiously out of the hole in the door. No Flag. A tightness constricted in his chest. He sighed. However, his eyes soon narrowed when Floyd spotted an unfamiliar man in combat attire turn the corner and make his way towards the cell door.  
  
“My name is Colonel Samson,” his voice boomed, with a typical military authority that Floyd had noted Flag’s carrying, only this voice held something sharper that Floyd didn’t want to trust. “Waller has sent me to gather Task Force X. I am to be your handler for your new mission.” Samson was a stocky bloke in his early forties, but what really held Floyd’s attention was the thick, brushy moustache that framed his upper lip, accentuating the man’s frown.  
  
Floyd stared blankly at him. “Where’s Flag?” He purposely ignored the slight quiver as he spoke, when he felt the sudden accumulation of fear rise up into his throat.  
  
“He’s currently indisposed,” Samson replied. He turned towards the guards. “Let the prisoner out.”  
  
“What do you mean, indisposed?” Floyd pressed.  
  
Samson ignored him.

Guards flooded his cell and Floyd was forced to exit, stepping reluctantly into the hallway as their shield pushed against his back.

“Good. Now, follow me,” Samson ordered before stalking off with his arms swinging purposefully by his sides.

Floyd followed, eyeing the panel strapped to the man’s left forearm; it was identical to the one Flag once used to control the grenades in the squad’s necks. A shiver snaked down the hitman’s spine, and he suppressed the sense of vulnerability that came with knowing that Flag was no longer in control of their fates. He never had been, really; but this was a cold confirmation of that.

He was escorted all the way across the prison and into the yard before Floyd caught a glimpse of any of the other squad members. Ahead was a helicopter, its engine already bursting with life and its blades already whipping the air around it into a violent frenzy. As they approached, Floyd spotted Harley as she climbed into the vehicle, dressed in a red and black jumpsuit with her dyed hair pulled into two braids.

“Get changed, and take whatever you think you’ll need for a fight,” Samson told him, indicating to one crate among the many spread out across the tarmac. The Colonel left to board the helicopter, leaving Floyd in the hands of the guards.

Pursing his lips, Floyd scanned the contents of his box before stripping down.

A soft wolf whistle alerted him to the fact that Harley was watching his every move. It was followed a brief growl, then cackling from within the copter.

Floyd rolled his eyes and quickly slipped into his Deadshot outfit, picking up his white mask and eyepiece. Then he surveyed the weapons. Without knowing the details of the mission Floyd could hardly know which type of fire arm would be most beneficial, so he simply picked up as broad a range as he could, with plenty of ammunition, before swiftly joining the others on the helicopter.  
  
The silence amongst the group was deafening. Or perhaps that was just the sound of the helicopter slicing a path through the sky, carrying them away from the hellhole that was Belle Reve. Either way, Floyd could hardly think over all the noise, or the not-noise, that was filling the air.

It was Digger who eventually broke it. “So who are you, mate, and what exactly is this mission you’re sending us on?” He faced Samson. “Is it another suicide one? Because I’m not too keen on those, if I’m honest…”

Harley snorted.

Everyone else just turned their eyes to Samson, waiting for him to dignify that with a response.

The Colonel cleared his throat and drew a pad from the inner pocket of his military jacket. He pressed a button and the image of Amanda Waller filled the screen, exactly as it had the last time. “I suggest you all listen up.”

Waller sent each member a hollow stare. “By now I’m sure you’ve noticed the absence of Colonel Flag. For the time being, Colonel Samson is acting as your ‘handler’, and I expect you all to treat him with respect; for you know the rules, if he dies, you die.”

Croc let out an unperturbed grunt.

Floyd rolled his eyes. “Where’s Flag then?”

“Yeah,” Harley chipped in. “I’m beginning to miss the guy.” She popped her bubblegum.

“A couple of weeks ago, Flag and his Black Ops team were sent on a covert mission to uncover and dismantle an organisation of meta-human trafficking run by the one and only Lex Luthor,” Waller replied.

Chato raised a non-existent eyebrow. “As in the billionaire?”

Waller nodded, pursing her lips. “Luthor has been suspected of involvement in the criminal underworld for many years now, but there has never been evidence enough for his incarceration.”

“I like that. ‘Criminal underworld’,” Harley giggled.

“Now, it seems he has been collecting meta-humans, for a purpose still unknown.” Waller paused. “The last thing we need is for any powerful beings to be shaped or controlled by the wrong hands.”

Floyd sighed. “This is all very fascinating, but can we skip to the point. Where’s Flag? I doubt you’d be calling on us if everything was all hunky-dory.”

The squad hummed in agreement, whilst Samson squirmed, unused to having someone treat his superior so flippantly.

“We lost contact with Flag and his team a few days ago,” Waller added. “It is most likely that they have been captured.”

Floyd choked on his own saliva.

“We’re sending Task Force X in as a last resort,” Waller continued. “Your mission is to enter Rickers Island, where Luthor has infiltrated the prison complex, and rescue Flag and his Black Ops team before classified intel on A.R.G.U.S. and Task Force X are leaked to one of the most influential men on this planet, placing all of our lives at risk. Good luck; I’ll be watching.”

The screen fell to black and the helicopter relapsed into a stifling quietness as the squad mulled over their mission parameters.

Harley sighed, leaning forward so that her elbows rested on her thighs. She turned her head in her hands so she could catch Floyd’s eye. “Time to play capture the Flag, everyone! I do love a good party game.” Harley’s brows knitted in thought.

“I hate party games,” Croc snarled, crossing his arms.

Floyd just stared at them all, blinking. “Wonderful,” he bit out as he slumped back against the wall. “Just wonderful.” He turned to stare out of a window and let the sinking feeling in his stomach swallow him up.


	2. Chapter 2

_A few days prior._

Flag let the guard steer him through the prison hallway, the barrel of the man’s rifle jutting harshly into his ribcage, enough to bruise. All the while, Rick mentally kicked himself for letting his team be taken by surprise, but how was he supposed to know Luthor had somehow tapped into the communications on their helicopter; the bastard knew they were coming. His team hadn’t lasted 10 minutes on the ground before Luthor’s guards, of whom there seemed to be hundreds, overwhelmed them. The only comfort Rick could grasp onto now was the fact that he could still keep an eye on his boys, since they were all being dragged into the same godforsaken building.

He proved to be right, to begin with. Flag was shoved to the floor in an open room, which he supposed once used to be the mess hall, just about managing to save his face from the impact by bending his knees in time to kneel. It was difficult to maintain balance when your hands were tied behind you back. Turning his head, Rick could see that his entire team; all twenty-five of them were in a similar predicament.

Before them stood a fair-haired man in a traditional, white lab-coat. Rick almost snorted at how cliché that was, but quickly thought better of it. The man wore spectacles with thick, black frames that obscured his eyes as he glanced down at the clipboard held in his right hand.

“Report,” the man ordered. Rick bristled at his slick, oily voice.

For a beat there was silence. Then, a guard stepped forward out of the line. “We discovered twenty-six unauthorised, sir. As told.”

Flag eyed the guard who couldn’t be more than twenty-six himself. As told? What the hell did that mean? He figured some of his men were thinking the same from the way they were shifting uncomfortably.

“And are they all here?” Lab-coat man raised an eyebrow.

“Affirmative, sir.”

“Delightful,” he nodded, scribbling something down on his clipboard before slipping his glasses off of his nose to stare down at Flag and his team like prizes in a raffle. “Luthor will be very pleased to hear that none of them evaded you.”

The guard quietly moved back into his position in the line.

Flag watched apprehensively as the man removed his lab-coat, folded it and handed it to a bodyguard behind him. Underneath he wore black; a black turtle-neck coupled with black slacks. Glasses in hand, the man stepped leisurely towards the captives. Starting at the opposite end of the line to Flag, the man walked down it, taking his time to observe and inspect every member of Rick’s team.

Each one stared the man in the eye, never backing down.

Rick had just about quelled his squirming by the time the man reached him. He had never felt so violated in all his life as he did when the man’s gaze swept over his face, and then down the rest of his body. But Flag schooled his expression fiercely, not wanting to give away his emotions to the bastard.

“What is your name?” The man asked, taking a step backwards and folding his arms.

“Flag.”

A pause. “Your full name.”

Rick clenched his jaw then sighed. “Richard Flag.”

The man nodded pensively before moving to reclaim his original position in the centre of the room. “Disposable captives will be removed.” He signalled to the guard by the door then turned to face Flag’s team. The man pointed to the youngest member, who was just shy of twenty-two, then to Flag’s lieutenant, then to Flag. “The rest can go.”

“What? No!” Rick tensed as the majority of his men were hauled up of the ground and directed out of the door. His own guard kneed him in the back, forcing Flag to lie face-down against the cold linoleum. “Don’t, stop, damn it.” Rick relented his struggling as the guard began to adopt a choke-hold position.

“Stand down, Peterson,” the lab-coat man smiled wickedly. “I’m sure Richard here can behave.”

It wasn’t long before the room had cleared.

“Lock the other two away for now,” he added, the man’s eyes never leaving Rick. “Mr Flag and I are going to have a little conversation about A.R.G.U.S and its new Task Force X.”

Rick stilled.

He was hefted into a standing position by the guard, who then began to lead him out of a door on the opposite side of the room. Flag craned his neck to try and catch a final glimpse of his team members before they disappeared out of the other door, where all of the rest had been taken. The guard forced his head back around as they exited.

Rick tried to take deep breaths to calm the panic rising inside of him. He was a black ops agent, a soldier; he had dealt with situations like this before. Only this time, it wasn’t just him and his team at risk, but also his squad. And Rick didn’t quite know how he felt about that.

_Now_.

“What d’you reckon’s happened to Flag then, Colonel?” Digger asked after a few minutes.

“Torture probably,” Chato muttered. “If they want intel from him, that’s how they’d go about it.”

Croc grunted.

Samson watched the colour drain from the faces of the squad. Deadshot in particular, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet for a while now. The Colonel shrugged. “Who knows,” he added, keeping his eyes on the hitman and waiting for a reaction. “You’re right, Diablo; they’d probably start with torture. But it’s been days now, and a man can only endure for so long.”

Deadshot flinched.

“Aw no, Flag ain’t dead, Samson,” Harley said, twirling a plait around her finger. “He’s a big boy. He can handle it.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Digger nodded. “Besides, there’s no way Waller’s sending us in for nothing.”

The squad hummed in agreement.

Samson swept his eyes over them, feeling contempt for Flag boil up in his stomach; the man wasn’t even here and he commanded the loyalty of this bunch of murderous misfits. Samson had never been privy to such a thing, not even amongst his own team. He smirked and began to fiddle with his glove, “Waller can’t see everything, Harkness; even though she tries. Especially not inside enemy territory.”

He received no reply.

_Yesterday._

“I’ve tried everything I can, sir. Everything short of killing him, and I know you don’t want that yet.”

The room was blurry when Rick peeled his eyes open, against the pulsing ache in his head. Wells, the lab-coat man, was standing a few feet away with a mobile to his ear. Flag clenched his fists and shifted his wrists against his restraints. He winced as a sharp spike of pain ripped up his arm to pull at his chest. The tell-tale smell of iron crashed over him like a wave and Rick fought the nausea rising up his throat.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” Wells continued. “I’ll have them brought over right away.” He ended the call and pocketed his phone.

Rick vaguely heard the stomping of guards as they left the room, but he could not concentrate for long enough to try and figure out where they might be heading.

“It’s time for a change, don’t you think Richard?” Wells returned his attention to the man strapped down against the metal table. “Since you’re insisting on withholding the information I need, I’m changing tactics. We’ll soon see what kind of man you are, Mr Flag. And so will your team.”

Footsteps approached.

Rick managed to slowly turn his head to face the sound as it echoed through the room. “No,” he gasped. “No.” He began to struggle. “No.”

Guards had brought it the two remaining members of his team; the two ‘useful’ ones that hadn’t already been ‘disposed’ of. Lieutenant Jackson and Private Watts.

Wells raised a hand to press Rick’s head back down against the table. The struggling stopped. “You didn’t break under torture, Mr Flag. That’s very admirable of you, I’m sure your employer will be proud. But, I wonder how well you’ll hold up once I start cutting into your men here.”

“No, don’t,” Rick said. “Don’t.” He looked over at his men through his hazy pain and saw fear etched evidently on their faces.

“Are you willing to talk, Mr Flag?” Wells raised an eyebrow, leaning down to pick up a bloodied scalpel.

Rick’s stomach churned. He didn’t want Jackson and Watts to suffer the same fate as himself, but he also dreaded what Luthor and Jones would do with any information he gave up. He would be endangering the whole of A.R.G.U.S. if he gave in, not to mention the lives of the Suicide Squad. A medley of images flooded his head; Harley’s stupid dip-dyed hair, Chato’s dancing flames, Digger’s bloody pink unicorn. Rick clenched his jaw; Floyd and his daughter, discussing Pythagoras’ theorem in terms of assassination. That damn smile that Floyd gave Zoë when the maths finally clicked. “No,” Rick spat at Wells. “I’m not giving you anything.”

Wells frowned before covering it up with a bitter smirk. “For now, Mr Flag, for now. We’ll see how you feel after I’ve spilt some of your men’s blood.”

Rick wanted to search out Jackson and Watts with his eyes again, to send them a consoling look. Only, blood loss caught up to him first, and Rick’s vision tunnelled before fading swiftly into black.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Floyd could safely say that he never wants to use a parachute again. The jump from the helicopter was fast and hectic; no one but Samson really knew what they were doing. Now, Floyd isn’t one to miss a mark, but given the fact that there was a tall, electrified fence he had to avoid, he would have preferred to not have his life placed in the hands of a fabric parachute he’d never used before. Fortunately Floyd didn’t miss, and he landed, or crashed rather, onto the ground on the correct side of the hellish fence.

Samson and Katana were the first to touch down, the latter managing to do so with such grace that Floyd allowed himself a moment to be jealous. Although, he was just glad he didn’t sprain an ankle as he collided with the grass. The others soon followed.

Except Digger, who crash-landed on the wrong side of the fence. “Bugger,” he spat as he twisted and turned, trying to escape his tangled parachute.

“Dude,” Floyd moaned, quickly clambering to his feet. “Did you really have to do that?” He had already freed himself from the fabric death-trap and was walking over to where Digger lay on the other side of the mesh of barbed wire.

“It wasn’t on purpose, jackass,” Digger flipped him the finger.

“Alright, alright,” Samson made his way over. “We can’t waste any more time here. Diablo, start the fire; we need that electrical system fried. Besides, a distraction won’t exactly go amiss. Croc, you help him get Boomerang onto this side of the damn fence. The rest of you, let’s go.” He marched off, rifle in hand.

“Okey dokey then, time to get this party started,” Harley said, wiping dirt off of her outfit and tugging her plaits tighter. Then she swung her bat over one shoulder and began to strut after Samson.

A beat barely past before Floyd followed, hot on her heels, with Katana bringing up the rear.

Digger turned his eyes to Chato. “Let’s burn this mother,” he said with a wicked grin.

Croc sniffed and crossed his arms.

Whereas Chato sighed, raising his hands. “You might want to stand back,” he warned Digger. “The electric wires are gonna spark.”

“Sure thing.” Digger scampered a few metres to the left.

“Okay then,” Chato muttered to himself. “Here we go.”

A stream of concentrated, blazing flames flew from the man’s inked fingertips, hitting the metal wire with raging heat and blasting its way through. Electrical sparks littered the ground around the area like a disappointing firework.

…

At first, Rick didn’t notice the power had gone out; he was so used to blacking out from the pain by this point. If he was honest, he had no idea how he was still alive, although he hadn’t had much time to ponder between torture sessions. Now, Wells was dividing his time between him and the others, and as much as Rick hated to admit it, he was actually thankful for that. Maybe he was becoming the same kind of sick bastard that Wells was. Or maybe he had always been one. Rick didn’t know anymore; all the lines were blurring in his head.

It wasn’t until a pause in Wells’ flesh carving that Rick realised anything had changed. The hot piercing of the knife withdrew as Wells stood back to turn to the guards. “Check what’s happening,” he ordered them, returning the blade to its position amongst the rest of his implements. “Well boys,” he patted Rick’s cheek as he addressed the captives. “It looks like we might have company. But then again, that’s hardly unexpected.”

Company. Contrasting emotions welled up in Rick’s chest. Company. Did that mean his squad was here? No, they can’t be here; he didn’t want to risk any of them falling into Luthor’s hands, not with his trafficking operation being far more entrenched than Waller could’ve anticipated.

The sound of a gun being loaded was followed swiftly by the cold press of a barrel to Rick’s temple. “Just in case,” Wells whispered into his ear.

Rick shivered.

The other man simply laughed.

…

Floyd hitched his gun higher as yet another set of guards approached them, heading towards Diablo’s fire. He shot the leader in the shoulder.

Katana was moving before he could fire again, sword ready. She spun at the armour-bound soldiers, weaving amongst them with awesome power, cutting them down before they had the chance to aim their weapons.

“Damn girl,” Floyd shook his head, exasperated.

Katana threw him a smirk then continued on.

Less than a minute later, Harley halted suddenly. Floyd walked right into her, a protest on the tip of his tongue. But Harley covered his mouth with her palm. “Does that look suspicious to you guys?” She pointed to the dark crevice between two buildings on their right.

Samson glanced at her, weary. He moved forward, rifle ready. “Shit,” he sighed.

“What? What is it?” Floyd pressed.

“It’s a pile of bodies, honey,” Harley told him.

Samson turned to face them. “Flag’s men; A.R.G.U.S. uniform.”

“Shit,” Floyd echoed. He stepped towards the bodies, eyes scanning wildly over the pale, empty faces, searching for Rick’s amongst them. Floyd tried to be relieved when he couldn’t find his friend, but the tightness in his chest refused to be soothed.

“You reckon he’s in there, then?” Harley asked, strolling over to the door.

“It’s likely,” Samson agreed, joining her. “We need to enter subtly and swiftly; this is a hostage situation and we can’t risk Flag’s life by letting the enemy know we’re coming. Do you understand?” The Colonel’s eyes landed on Deadshot at this point, having heard the hitman liked to go in with guns blazing.

Floyd just glared at him. The hell he’s going to put Rick in more danger than he’s already in. Bastard.

The patter of footsteps alerts them to Croc, Chato and Digger, who come flying around the corner and pull up abruptly when they spot the rest of the squad, joining them in the shadowed strip.

“Nice of you to join us, Harkness,” Samson scoffed.

Digger shrugged. “The other side is nicer, just saying.”

The Colonel began to discuss tactics, believing their best bet was to split up and enter the prison at different points.

Meanwhile, Harley has opened the door and was peeking inside. A short hallway opened up into a spacious room, although it was dark inside so Harley couldn’t see just how large it was, or if there was anyone inside. She felt a body lean gently behind her, and glancing back she saw it was Floyd, who was adjusting his eye-piece as he too peered in through the crack. Only, Floyd had night-vision, so he could actually see through the darkness.

He closed the door again carefully. “Flag’s in there,” Floyd told the squad, eyebrows drawn together. “But some bastard has a gun to his head. There are two others from his team in there too. And lots of guards.”

“Alright then,” Samson nodded. “That settles it. We divide up and take different sections of the building, meeting in the middle where they’re holding Flag. Remember, take out the threat first, before attempting to rescue.” He stared pointedly at Floyd, who rolled his eyes.

Croc and Boomerang took the left side of the building, whilst Katana and Harley took the right. That left Samson, Deadshot and Diablo to handle this particular entrance. The three men paused for a couple of minutes, steadying their breathing and waiting for the rest of the squad to get into position.

Floyd had the silhouette of Rick with a gun trained on him etched into his eyelids; he had never felt this disgusted by his weapon of choice before. He had always considered them perfect, infallible instruments that could get a job done easily and cleanly. But Flag wasn’t a job, and it wasn’t Floyd’s gun pressed against his head. The hitman took a deep breath to try and steel himself, but he had never felt so powerless.

When it was time to enter, Samson led the way with Floyd trailing eagerly behind; he was feeling particularly trigger-happy as Rick came back into view.

Light flooded the room.

Floyd froze, but it was no use. The squad had been caught red-handed, like deer in headlights.

“Where are your manners? Such underhand tactics; I expected better from you. You are part of a government agency, after all.” Two others had joined the man with the gun who stood beside Flag’s vulnerable form; another man, only this one was dressed in a pin-striped suit, and a lady in all black. “You are Task Force X, aren't you?” The suit-wearing man raised an eyebrow.

Samson stepped forward. “We are. And you have unlawfully taken some of our agents into your possession, which we are here to retrieve.”

Floyd tried to pay attention to their conversation, but his gaze was glued to Flag, who remained unmoving.

“Those agents entered my private property,” Suit-man said.

“You’re Lex Luthor?” Harley titled her head, raking her eyes down his figure. “Huh. I thought you’d be more formidable.”

Luthor smiled coldly. “Darling, I can be plenty formidable.” He raised a hand and soldiers spilled in through the doors to surround the Suicide Squad from behind. “Now, Mr Flag here was frankly quite disappointing under torture; he spilled nothing but his guts. Such a shame, really, considering he was such a good soldier.”

Lead settled in Floyd’s stomach, weighing him down.

The billionaire walked around the table where Rick lay, trailing his index finger along the curved edge. “Before we go any further, I want you all to know that Mr Flag has now become expendable, and I’m sure you’ve seen what happened to the other disposable members of his team.” Luthor waved a hand towards Jackson and Watts.

A gun fired. Twice.

The sound echoed.

Floyd’s eyes flew to the final members of Flag’s team tied up across the room, recognising the elder to be his lieutenant. Blood flowed from fresh holes in their heads.

“Thank you, Wells.”

The man in the white lab-coat nodded, returning his weapon to Flag’s head.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Luthor cooed.

Chato shifted, looking up at the ceiling.

“Move Task Force X to the cells,” the lady barked.

The soldiers moved to grab them. Chato felt a firm grip on the back of his neck and threw his elbow over his left shoulder to throw it off. Once free, he ran forward, sending a flare up to the ceiling.

Water poured down.

The room erupted into chaos as the suicide squad began to retaliate.

Chato smirked, turning to blast his guard back into the wall. The man collapsed onto the floor, his front charred.

The squad was pushing back, hard. Floyd wiped out half of the soldiers in his first sweep, aiming first for the bastard who dared to place his gun against Flag’s head. Wells dropped. Floyd shot him twice, just to make sure. He went to take down Luthor and his right-hand lady, only to find them gone. Fuck it; he’d deal with them later.

Harley kicked her guard in the balls, then whacked him in the face with her bat. Katana finished him off with a sword to the stomach. They shared a fist bump before moving on to the next poor soul who dared to come after them.

Screams from Croc’s victims filled the room like a symphony, a crescendo of victory for the squad, as Chato and Floyd reached Rick’s side.

Chato rushed to unstrap the poor man, wincing as he took in the extent of Flag’s wounds. Floyd drunk in the condition of Rick’s face, his closed eyes seemed a slice of peace amongst all of the angry, red blood. He softly placed two fingers on his friend’s jugular; his pulse was weak and fluttery, but there. Thank God.

All the soldiers were down.

Samson reloaded his rifle and stepped towards the trio. He withdrew his walkie-talkie and requested an immediate evacuation. “Amanda the target has been acquired.” He listened further, then nodded. “Copy that. Another thing, Flag’s wounded; we’ll need a medical team on hand.” He paused. “Roger that. Over.”

Chato helped Floyd heft Rick up into his arms. The pyrokinetic was impressed; he couldn’t have done it himself. However it seemed fitting that it was Floyd, rather than Waylon, even though his crocodilian nature would have found it no trouble at all to lift a man of Rick’s size.

“Helicopter’s on its way, headed towards our drop-off point; we’ll meet it back there,” Samson told them, taking them all in, sopping wet from the sprinklers. “You got him?” He asked Deadshot, indicating to Flag.

“I’ve got him,” Floyd assured, brown eyes shining confidently.

“Okay, good,” Samson nodded. “Let’s move.”

…

“Mercy, call ahead and tell them to initiate the Suicide protocol,” Luthor ordered as they strode across the prison complex.

“Certainly, sir,” Graves smirked, lifting his phone to her ear. “Start it,” she said. “Our window is closing.” Ending the call, she returned the device to her boss.

The pair turned a corner and a wide helipad came into view. Tens of helicopters awaited their arrival.

“Are the assets all aboard?” Luthor asked as they neared the fleet.

Graves nodded. “Packed and loaded as soon as we received word of the fire, sir. Nothing of value will be left behind.”

Luthor let out a sigh. “Good. It’s such a shame to see the power of meta-humans go to waste. Oh well, if I can’t have them then neither can Waller.”

…

A siren began to blare.

“Uh oh,” Harley stated, eyes wide. “That cannot be a good thing.”

The squad exchanged looks.

“Should we run?” Digger scratched the back of his head. “‘Cause that sounds like a solid idea to me.”

“We run,” Croc agreed.

Samson seemed as though he was about to say something.

Floyd rolled his eyes and jogged towards the exit. “Come on. Less chatting more moving, people.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse the inaccuracies regarding medical procedures and such; cause it's all pretty idealised.

What Floyd couldn’t grasp was why none of the guards they kept encountering never engaged them, never tried to stop the squad from reaching their evacuation point. But, considering he had greater priorities, such as getting Rick to medical help, the hitman didn’t spend too long worrying about the fact that the guards were making their escape attempt much easier than anticipated.

As it turns out, he wasn’t the only one who had picked up on that. Chato, the paranoid bastard that he is, was unwilling to turn a blind eye to the suspicious antics of the guards. “Guys, something ain’t right here,” he said as they were making a run for the fence. “Why are the guards running away like they have somewhere better to be?”

“Just pick up the pace,” Samson grunted. “We don’t have time to worry about that shit right now.”

They soon reached the electric fence.

“Damn man, you’ve got some serious talent,” Floyd raised his eyebrows at the wrecked section of the fence, where Chato had aimed his fireball.

The pyrokinetic simply shrugged.

“Where’s the chopper?” Digger folded his arms, squinting up at the sky.

“It’ll be here,” Samson assured. “Waller said 15 minutes.”

Digger hummed. “We better hope Luthor hasn’t got something up his sleeve then.”

The weight of Rick in his arms was starting to take its toll on Floyd. He shifted the unconscious man, carefully trying to reposition him. Floyd frowned; he wasn’t sure how good of a sign it was that Rick hadn’t roused from all of the recent movement.

The hitman spotted Katana watching him silently, seemingly contemplating, but it was difficult to tell with that mask over her face. She nodded at Floyd and came to lay a hand over Rick’s forehead, whispering something in Japanese. Katana raised her eyes to Floyd’s. “I prayed for his soul. He is a strong man; have hope.”

Floyd’s chest warmed, and suddenly the weight in his arms felt lighter. “Thanks,” he said, sending Katana a soft smile.

The tell-tale whipping of air alerted the squad to the arrival of the helicopter.

“Finally,” Waylon growled, stepping first through the charred hole in the mesh of metal.

“You know, we did a pretty crappy job of saving Flag’s team,” Harley commented, following Croc to the other side. “Are we sure they were all dead?”

Samson shook his head as he joined them, taking out his walkie-talkie. “Our priority was to get Colonel Flag to safety, we’ve achieved that. Waller authorised us to abandon the others if necessary. We don’t have time to check on the rest of Flag’s team without risking either Flag or you guys, and Waller wouldn’t approve of that.”

“That’s bullshit,” Floyd argued. “Flag would never stand for that.”

Samson turned to look at the hitman. “You can go back if you want, but Waller gave me this for a reason.” The colonel raised his arm to show the control panel strapped there. “Besides, if we delay our evacuation, Flag’ll likely die. And something tells me you wouldn’t stand for that.”

The siren suddenly cut off, plummeting the island into a chilling silence.

“Are anybody else’s ears ringing?” Harley asked. “Or is it just me?”

Floyd saw Katana say something quietly to Harley, who turned to her with a wide grin plastered on her face.

The turret nearest to the squad became lit up with green. Then the following one. And the next. One by one, each turret embedded in the fence became immersed in bright light, which contrasted with the steadily approaching night-time.

“That’s probably not great,” Chato muttered.

Harley rolled her eyes. “Why’ve you gotta be such a downer, Chato? Maybe it’s actually not a bad thing for once. Green is usually a good colour, right? Red lights on the other hand…”

An explosion rang out. Flames flew from a nearby turret, and sent the squad scrambling for cover.

Samson raised his walkie-talkie. “The island’s imploding. We need that evacuation now.”

“Fucking imploding,” Floyd swore as he moved to where the rest of the squad had all congregated on the other side of the fence. “Why does it have to be fucking imploding?”

“Well, isn’t this exciting?” Digger smirked.

“Shut the hell up you dick and help me,” Floyd grunted, attempting to manoeuvre himself and Flag through the awkwardly shaped hole in the fence.

Digger just smirked harder, then stepped forward to actually do something useful.

Another bomb went off, further away this time.

The helicopter was approaching the cliff edge.

“The turrets are exploding randomly,” Samson pointed out, a frown etched onto his features.

“That’s pretty smart,” Harley said, playing with her pistol.

Floyd huffed, standing up again whilst maintaining his grip on Rick, whose body was slipping slightly. “Yeah, very intelligent. What’s the pilot doing over there anyway? Taking a moment to appreciate the scenery?”

“Everyone stand back,” Samson ordered as the helicopter reached the same altitude as the cliff and moved to align itself. “Okay, we’ll have to jump,” he shouted over the roar of the chopper.

“What?” Floyd’s eyes bugged.

One by one the squad leapt onto their flying, saving grace.

Samson hung back to assist Floyd as he made his way over with Rick. A medical team was present on the helicopter and they managed, with some difficultly, to take Rick from Floyd’s arms.

The turret closest to them blew up.

Samson pushed Floyd forwards and the two jumped for their lives through the open doors of the chopper. They crashed onto the floor. The helicopter shook as the pilot tried to maintain control of the vehicle as the force from the explosion slammed into it at high speed. It tilted sideways.

“Go, go, go,” Samson yelled over the noise, and the pilot sent the chopper out to sea. The colonel dragged the door closed behind him, as Floyd scrambled for a seat.

Everyone slumped with relief.

Floyd moved to the seat nearest to where the medical team was connecting Rick to all sorts of life-saving equipment.

Samson reported to Waller, whilst the squad chatted amongst themselves. But Floyd simply watched as the paramedics tended to Rick, not wanting to take his eyes off the man, for fear he might slip away from him.

Chato prodded him in the side.

Floyd turned his head. “Yeah?”

“Waller,” was all the man replied with.

Samson had his pad out again, and as Floyd swivelled, Amanda Waller’s face appeared clearly on the screen.

“Congratulations on the successful mission,” Waller told them, in her usual controlled tone. “Another ten years will be taken off of your prison sentences. Unfortunately Luthor has escaped, and apparently, managed to relocate his entire operation before blowing Rickers Island to pieces. However, currently that is not your concern. Well done, Task Force X. I will be in touch to negotiate any additional requests.”

The screen turned black and Samson stashed the pad away. “There you go. As you were, everyone.”

Floyd’s eyes strayed back onto Rick. He was now naked from the waist up, bloody bandages littering his torso. The medical team were still buzzing around him. Floyd clenched his fists and wished for the journey to be over soon.

…

They were just touching down at a hospital in NYC when Rick began to break free of his unconsciousness.

“Floyd,” he gasped, voice cracking. Rick’s eyes were glassy when he gazed frantically around the inside of the chopper, searching desperately for a familiar face. “Floyd is that you?”

“Yeah, yeah man,” Floyd assured him, unstrapping himself to stand over him. “It’s me. You’re at the hospital, you’re gonna be okay; the squad got you out.”

“We’re going to have to ask you to stand back, Mr Lawton,” a paramedic told the hitman firmly, as they began to manoeuvre the gurney on which Rick lay.

“Fine, okay,” Floyd relented, reluctantly releasing his grip on Rick’s shoulder.

The rest of the squad remained in their seats as they watched Rick get wheeled out and onto the hospital’s helipad. Doctors were running out of a set of doors, their coats flapping wildly in the strong wind. Waller was also there, standing in her pink jacket. She stared after Rick as his gurney disappeared through the doors and into the hospital.

A few moments passed when Floyd was just left standing, unsure of what he should do. Were they just going to leave? Was Waller going to make them go back to prison without knowing if Rick was going to be alright?

A nurse came back out onto the helipad and spoke with Waller, who briefly turned to look at the helicopter, and then back. Waller nodded. Then she walked onto the chopper, with her expression giving away nothing.

“Lawton, come with me,” Waller said. Then she addressed Samson, “I want the rest returned to Belle Reve. Come on, Deadshot; I don’t have all day.”

Floyd gaped, quickly sending Harley a confused look, before striding out of the helicopter after Waller. Questions and possibilities ran wildly through his head.

They were headed towards the entrance to the hospital, trailing after the nurse.

“Apparently Flag wouldn’t consent to the operation without you here,” Waller told him. If she was surprised by that, her voice didn’t betray anything. “And I want Flag alive.”

Floyd wasn’t sure how he felt about any of that. But his body obviously did; warmth spread through his chest like wildfire, forcing a smile to crack through his stoic composure. He didn’t reply to Waller; he wasn’t sure what he should say.

…

Floyd was wearing down the carpet in the waiting room with all his pacing. Rick had been in surgery for an hour now, and Floyd had no idea whether that was normal or not. And there was no way he was entering that kind of conversation with Waller. So he chewed his lip and kept moving, trying to stop his mind from wandering into dangerous territory.

Meanwhile, Waller was sat reading a book in one of the arm chairs, as five heavily armed soldiers lingered by the door to keep the hitman in line.

Said door flung open to reveal a doctor, fresh out of the operating room, with her mask left to hang around her neck. “I’m here to discuss Mr Flag’s situation,” she said with calm authority.

Floyd rushed over.

The soldiers raised their weapons out of caution, but Waller waved at them to stand down.

“How is he?” Floyd asked the doctor, blatantly ignoring everyone else in the room.

The doctor, who spared a glance at the soldiers and Waller before returning her gaze to the hitman, sighed. “He’s stable and recovering, currently unconscious due to the sedatives we administered.”

Floyd let out a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding. He pursed his lips and nodded, feeling relief and excitement bubble up inside him. Thank the fucking Lord.

He clearly wasn’t masking his emotions as well as he thought because the doctor sent him a knowing smile. “He’s able to have visitors, if you’re interested?”

Floyd’s eyes darted up. But then he saw a flash of pink out of the corner of his eye and sighed. What was the likelihood of Waller granting him that luxury?

“We’re interested,” Waller said, standing.

…

Flag’s room was sparsely lit, but the man still managed to look pale.

The doctor left quickly after showing them to the room, asking them to call for a nurse if they need any assistance.

An awkward silence ensued. Waller, once again, found a chair to settle into. After seeing that Flag was still alive, it didn’t take her long to reach for her book again.

Floyd didn’t complain; he was glad to have Flag’s bedside all to himself. He sat in the chair closest to the bed, and cautiously slipped Rick’s hand into his own, gripping it softly. The gesture helped to reassure him that Flag was still there; he hadn’t been taken from him, again.

The man had hands a similar size to his own, and equally calloused. But they also had a gentleness to them that Floyd had never had the chance to notice before. The hitman began to stroke the back of Rick’s hand soothingly with his thumb and returned his gaze onto his friend’s face. He was breathing peacefully. Floyd reckoned that this was what true contentment was like, he only wished that torture hadn’t been the route to achieving it.

Amanda’s book wasn’t half as interesting as she wanted Lawton to believe. She peered over the top of the pages, watching the hitman cradle Flag’s hand with such care. The open expression on his face told her that the risk she had taken by sending Flag’s team into a situation she knew would likely end in capture had paid off in all the ways she’d wanted it to; the squad was closer than ever, and their loyalty towards Flag was threefold, especially Deadshot’s. She smirked; Task Force X was coming together better than she could’ve hoped for.


	5. Chapter 5

On Tuesday Floyd woke up happy, which hadn’t happened often since he’d been locked away. In fact, he could probably count the number of times he had done on one hand. But today Floyd got to visit his daughter again, and if that didn’t make him excited about life, nothing would.

The hitman washed thoroughly, and dressed as usual, despite knowing that they’d let him wear his own clothes when he met Zoë. He let himself fall into the motions of his routine, not lingering for too long without anything to occupy himself with because it stopped Floyd from thinking too much about the growing concern that had taken root in his stomach since the day that he’d left Rick in the hospital.

Floyd hadn’t seen his friend since. Was he still alive? Would Waller even tell him if he wasn’t? There were so many things that could’ve gone wrong since then and now.

So Floyd, as a general rule, tried to forget about all that and focus on the shining light of his life at that point in time, which was the rare opportunity to see his daughter. Although, it was harder than he thought to prevent stray thoughts about Rick from seeping in.

The stomping of footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Floyd was up and standing readily by the door to his cell in no time. The little window was shut so the prisoner couldn’t see, but from the sound of it, it seemed that only one guard was approaching. That was odd; they normally travelled in packs when releasing prisoners. Maybe he wasn’t getting his visit after all, Floyd thought bitterly.

The cell door swung open suddenly.

“Rick?”

Rick fucking Flag was standing there in all his military glory. The man sent Floyd a sheepish smile, “Hi.”

Floyd collided with his friend, wrapping him up in a tight hug. “Dude, don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

“Do what?” Rick asked into Floyd’s neck.

“You nearly died, and I can’t allow that, okay. I just can’t. This squad needs you; it’s nothing without you, man. Seriously.” Floyd squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

“I thought you weren’t a hugger,” Rick smiled.

Floyd pulled back to punch the man on the shoulder. “Shut up you dick. Are you really alright?”

The Colonel lifted his shirt, showing off his many new scars. But that’s all they were; pink, puckered scars. The gaping wounds had all gone.

Floyd nodded with satisfaction; seeing Rick all broken up as he had been, well, it was terrifying to be honest. “They patched you up good, huh?”

Rick grinned. “Good as new. Practically.” He placed a hand on Floyd’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes, “Thanks for saving me, I truly appreciate it.”

The hitman shrugged, leaning into the touch. “It was the squad, man. We’re pretty unstoppable when we want to be. Besides, it wasn’t an option to leave you there, or let you die.”

“Yeah, but a little birdy told me that you carried me all the way to the chopper,” Rick pressed, his mouth twisting into a cheeky smirk. “Is that true?”

Floyd refused to blush; he was a grown man. “So what if it is? Am I going to see my daughter or what?”

“You sure are,” Rick told him, grabbing Floyd by the arm and leading him down the hallway. “Just to say, it would’ve have been really sweet of you, you know, if it was true.”

Floyd chuckled, “Good to know.” He moved to drape his arm over Rick’s shoulders. This definitely made him happy, and it was the best feeling in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. Thanks for your support.


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